


Trust is Like a Pond of Murky Water

by mythomagicallydelicious



Series: Who is In Control? [6]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Drunk Decision Making, Dubious Consent, Flirting, Gen, Heavy Rain - Freeform, M/M, Ocean, Pre-Canon, Rough Sex, Sex, Storms, Tags to be added, Water, father figure vandran, fjord's sailor days, fjord's trauma just takes no breaks, hero fjord, implied uk'otoa, rated t for language and probs the situation, sehanine the moonweaver ftw, there might be two chapters in the future keep an eye out, threat of drowning, upped the rating to E for Explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:35:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24066682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mythomagicallydelicious/pseuds/mythomagicallydelicious
Summary: A dramatic battle against the ocean itself leaves Fjord wondering just how much power he has over his own circumstances and his reactions to them.
Relationships: Fjord & Sabian (Critical Role), Fjord & Vandran (Critical Role), Fjord/Sabian (Critical Role)
Series: Who is In Control? [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1735969
Comments: 5
Kudos: 33





	1. I Know that It can Take Me Even Deeper if I Let It

**Author's Note:**

> There will eventually be a second chapter to this fic! I finished the next part before finishing this specific chapter, so stay tuned for the rest of this story. :D

**29**

A storm really fucked up the ship on its way back to port. Fjord was quartermaster now, not carpenter, but all hands were on deck trying to make temporary repairs to make it back to the nearest port. Men were tossing buckets of water to each other to pour out the saltwater making its way below decks, trying to weigh the ship down. Fjord and others making hasty, patchy repairs, hopefully sealing off the worst of the damage done.

“Something’s run afoul of the rudder! We can’t steer ‘er without it,” the captain called as he wrestled with the wheel. Fjord turned, thinking fast as he gathered up rope and tools, hooking them to his belt as he ran to the bow. The boat seized and threatened to capsize beneath them, the waves rocking roughly. Vandran called out orders and crewmen scrambled to follow them. But the rudder was irreparable while they were still on the water.

Fjord grabbed a random man by the shoulder and dragged him behind him. “Help me with this,” he yelled over the roaring wind. Rain pelted them like arrows and Fjord let go, feeling the man follow behind.

“What are you doing?” the other called, and Fjord glanced back to see Sabian slipping beside him to the stern. Fjord looped the rope around his own waist and started passing the line to Sabian.

“The rudder needs to be repaired or we’re dead! We won’t last this storm.” The boat crashed hard to port, leaning so far it almost flipped the boat. They clung to the deck rail as they rode the swell. They somewhat evened out and Fjord passed the rest of the rough rope to Sabian. “Hold me, I’ll try and patch it back before we capsize.”

“Wait, that’s crazy-“Sabian started, but Fjord was already turned around, one foot up on the rail, and launching himself down the hull of the ship. He took a deep breath and braced himself as he broke through the rocky waves. 

The water is cold and it hits him like a shock despite enduring all the rain up top. He breaks the surface and takes a few breaths before diving down and directing himself hand-over-hand along the skeleton of the ship. The water resisted and thrashed against him, but he tightened his grip and propelled himself through it.

He could see the rudder flapping disjointedly before him. He slipped the extra end of the rope he’d wrapped around his waist to a catch in the wood, hoping it would steady him as he worked. Looking over, the locking joint was almost completely torn free from the rudder, barely moving it as the wheel above was turned. Fjord swam closer, trying to inspect the reason why the cable wasn’t connected.

Another swell hits and Fjord gets scraped along the bottom of the boat. It opens a cut on his forehead and dark blood clouds the water in front of him, making it harder to see.

Fjord grits his teeth and tugs on the loose cable. There’s a part at the end where it should have been connected to the wood itself, but it was flapping loose, useless. He drags himself up to the front of the rudder, pulling the loose cable behind him, trying to stretch it back down to its place. There’s splintered wood where the metal clamp should be to attach the rudder to the line.

Fjord blows a few bubbles out of his mouth and tries not to think about how much air he had left. He’s got a job to do. There’s no way to do a careful application, here. He’s gotta stretch the line taught enough to take control of the rudder but not so tight it’ll snap. But how to attach it to the damaged piece?

Fjord takes the spare length of rope he’d brought and fights through the water to wrap it around the thinner top half of the rudder, looping it over and swimming back to the front. He ties the rope off with a triple tight special knot, sending up a prayer that it would stay. He pulls the cable taut through the knot, using his full strength and feeling his muscles strain at the task. He pulls until he feels the cable shudder with tension and pins it in place around the rest of the rope.

He feels his throat constrict and he knows he needs to get out from under the ship. Tugging one last time on the cable and feeling it hold fast, Fjord lets go of the underside of the ship completely, pulling his rope off the catch of wood and letting the current drag him back out into the open water.

He breaks the surface, lungs on fire and eyes burning. He tugs on the rope and calls up to the deck. “Sabian! Sabian, up!”

Sabian sees him immediately and staggers backward, heaving Fjord up. He shouts and another man drops a bucket and tugs on the rope with him. Fjord tries to help by clawing his way up the side of the ship, but the wood is slick and there are no easy purchases.

There’s a moment where he feels sure they’ll drop him, the rope going slack and Fjord dropping several feet, close to the hungry ocean waves. But they catch him and tug harder, pulling him up so he can get a grip on the railing and flop himself over on deck.

“Be careful, man! It’s no time to go overboard!” Yells the man who’d stopped to help bring Fjord up, already grabbing the bucket he’d abandoned in hearing Sabian call for assistance.

Sabian comes around to Fjord’s side, where he’s on his hands and knees, coughing, trying to catch his breath after so long underwater. “Fjord, did you do it? Are you alright?” Sabian slaps Fjord hard on the back and it’s exactly what he needs to expel the saltwater that had crashed over him and forced its way inside his nose and mouth while underwater.

“’m fine,” Fjord muttered. “Let the captain know to take it easy, but the line is patched to last the storm.”

Sabian clapped him on the shoulder and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Ah, there’s a good man!” He uses Fjord’s shoulder as leverage to push himself up and run to the captain. He couldn’t hear their conversation but he saw Vandran’s shoulders straighten. When next he heard his captain shout an order, his voice held a strong resolve, the kind that inspires certainty in troubling times.

“Stand firm, all! We’ll pull through. Stile, grab four men and keep hauling water out!”

“Aye, sir,” Stile shouted, calling out for some men to follow him as he disappeared below deck. Fjord got a grip and stood, leaning on the railing and glancing around to see where he could do the most good. He saw a man struggling to keep the rigging folded, and Fjord slid over the slick deck to assist him. Fjord grabbed a length of rope hanging loose and pulled it back, leaning towards the mooring post. He felt the rope slide over his arms, giving him rubbing burns, but he grit his teeth and twisted the rope around his wrists, tugging harder. He suddenly remembered the muscles he’d pulled in his arms below water as his arms burned.

Fjord yelled, throwing his shoulder into it by half turning, yanking the rope around the post as tight as he could. Next to him Dendra grunted and finally got his tied off as well. They spared a nod between them as they each rushed off to other duties. Fjord faced the captain, shaking out his arms as he awaited another emergency to make itself known. Off starboard he saw the waves swelling towards them, forty, fifty feet high at least. Fjord’s eyes widened in terror as he turned to shout a warning to Vandran, knowing nothing he could say could help them.

He looked to his captain, voice caught in his throat, and watched as Vandran looked up to the towering waves. Vandran made a gesture with one arm as if telling the waves to _back off,_ his other hand holding firm to the wheel. Fjord knelt by the nearest lashed cargo and held on for dear life as the large wave built higher, about to crash over them all.

The water roared like thunder as it peaked and fell. Fjord braced himself for impact… but it never came. At worst it felt as if the rain got heavier for a moment. It was just as loud, and as he looked up he saw the giant wave arcing over the ship, falling to the other side. It barely rocked them at all, though Fjord knew those kinds of waves could easily have capsized them once and for all.

He turned back to Vandran, still standing with one arm raised, as if fending the waves away from the ship.

“There’s a leak below! Someone bring a mallet!” Fjord heard from below deck. He shook his head, clearing the crazy thought that Vandran somehow pushed the water away from them, and ran below, already pulling a mallet from his belt and calling out a response.

-


	2. I Can't Jump Off the High Dive Even Though I Really Want To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fjord and Sabian take things somewhere else a little more private, and a time is had by all (for better and for worse).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains graphic depiction of anal sex, and rough sex, as well as biting, blood, and cum. I bumped the rating up to Explicit for this chapter (for the whole fic), so please take a moment if you haven't already to be sure you want to read this chapter.
> 
> This chapter kind of got away from me when I was writing it, tbh, but hopefully y'all will still enjoy it overall.
> 
> Also, I marked this as dubious consent, because both parties are extremely drunk, and reading from Fjord's pov it looks like he has second thoughts during sex, that he does not voice, but implies later was probably unwanted. Though initially both parties are on board.
> 
> I'm keeping a list up here while I'm editing to remind myself to add to the tags what the warnings are. If I forget to add them in the tags, here they are: alcohol, intoxication, sex, anal sex, rough sex, dirty talk, dubious consent, graphic depiction of vomit, graphic depiction of sex, blood, biting (sexual), cum, suicidal ideation, begging, language, fjord gets flashbacks (and none of it is good), fjord filing down his teeth (minor), crying, crying during sex, porn with emotions, coping methods (healthy/unhealthy), fjord's ptsd
> 
> Please take care of yourself, and keep these trigger warnings in mind. Thanks!

They made it to Nicodranas, limping the last bit of the voyage. But they made it mostly in one piece. No lives were lost, and most of the cargo they’d been transporting was relatively undamaged. They had to take longer in Nicodranas than originally planned in order to carry out repairs, but no one was unhappy with finding ways to spend their coin once they blessedly made it back on land.

Some things you go through bring you closer to the people you survived it with. Weathering a ship-breaking storm together and coming out of it fine as rain is one of them. The crew was in high spirits as they exited the docks, calling back and forth in a loose group as they looked around for a bar to spend their evening in. Fjord walked alongside Sabian, one of Sabian’s arms thrown over Fjord’s shoulders and telling whoever was next to them about the magic he worked on the rudder.

“And this guy! Our very own Fjord Q. Stone threw the rope at me and dived straight in, faster ‘an a cannonball. No by-your-leave except a quick “don’t drop me.” Sabian threw his head back and laughed, and the men beside them looked at Fjord, impressed, already asking what he did. He felt his face flushing and he hoped no one could really notice with his natural skin tone already so different from theirs.

“Everyone was doing something to help, Sabian, it’s not like I single-handedly saved the ship. We’d have been toast if Declan hadn’t spotted that leak below deck, or if Dendra hadn’t gotten the rigging squared away and the sails up. Good call, Dendra!” Fjord called out a few feet in front of them, and Dendra turned, waving at them, walking backwards for a few steps before rejoining his own conversation.

“Oh don’t go getting shy, Fjord! Give yourself some credit—if we couldn’t get the rudder back we would’ve capsized on those next swells for sure.” Sabian leaned in closer, his face right next to Fjord’s as the others led the crew into a lively looking tavern, the front door wide open and laughter and shouting already pouring from within. “You saved us, Fjord. My hero,” Sabian said, pretending to swoon and going dead-weight, making Fjord stumble to catch him.

Fjord couldn’t help the laughter that burst out of him as he nearly took a knee trying to leverage Sabian upright again. “Come on, help me out here, or I’ll drop you by the door to get stepped on,” Fjord threatened playfully. A couple of their crewmates laughed and headed past them inside.

Sabian cracked one eye open, his hand thrown dramatically over his forehead as if blocking the sun from view. “Well, since you asked so kindly,” he says as he stands upright again, with a little help from Fjord. He gives him a quick peck on the cheek and walks inside as well.

Fjord really, really hoped the lower lighting of the bar would hide his blushes.

Everyone pushed tables together and commandeered chairs, throwing down their coin for the first round. Over the course of the night their chatter only grew more boisterous, as jokes and toasts at their survival of the storm morphed to port gossip and drunken grandstanding amongst them.

The night was spent with laughter, ale, and camaraderie between them, Fjord feeling his inhibitions lower and even returning some of the flirtations Sabian offered him, surprising the other at finally responding in more than a joking capacity, but quickly turning more direct in his advances. Fjord welcomed the hand on his thigh under the table, and the way Sabian leaned too far into his space in between drinks and stories being passed around. Fjord slung his arm over Sabian’s shoulders, drawing him in the same way Sabian had earlier, and spoke directly into his ear, not nearly as quiet as his alcohol-addled mind thought he was being, an invitation to share quarters outside of the ship that night.

The party of crewmen broke up a few at a time, some to continue the celebration of staying alive another day, some to sleep it off, some to find companionship. Fjord and Sabian staggered out onto the streets and into the nearest inn, sloppily throwing the coin to the innkeeper and going upstairs.

As soon as they turned into the room, Sabian closed the door and pushed Fjord up against it, undoing the clasps and straps of Fjord’s armor. Fjord clumsily helped, but they got stuck pulling his arm through on one side and they took a moment just to laugh. Fjord knocked his head back against the door behind them and Sabian laughed even harder at the low cuss Fjord gave in response.

Eventually the armor came loose, and Sabian slowed slightly, running his hands down either side of Fjord’s cheeks to his chest, lightly skidding his hands down to the hem of Fjord’s shirt, reaching beneath it to go skin-to-skin. Fjord inhaled as Sabian’s cool hands caressed him.

“That blush has been driving me crazy all night, Fjord. I can’t believe you’re such a tease,” Sabian smirked as Fjord’s ears turned darker green at those words. Sabian slipped his hands around to Fjord’s back, pulling them even closer together. They were almost the same height, but Sabian was a hair taller, and he tilted his head down to look Fjord in the eye as he flirted.

“I’m the tease?” Fjord asks, bringing his hands up to run through Sabian’s hair. It’s wild and tangled from being out on the open water, and with the small tugs Fjord makes Sabian huff out a low groan in the back of his throat. “ _I’m_ the tease?” he repeats, incredulous. “You’re the one who’s been dropping hints for the last few months, right?”

Sabian dips his hands beneath the Fjord’s trousers, cupping his ass and squeezing. “Oh, so you caught on? I wasn’t sure you’d noticed.” Sabian dips down to mouth at Fjord’s neck, and now it’s Fjord’s turn to let out a small gasp. Sabian grins wickedly and chuckles.

Fjord pushes them back a few steps to stand just by the bed. “You were hardly being subtle, Sabian.”

“Subtle is my middle name, Fjordy,” Sabian says, hooking his leg through Fjord’s and sending them both tumbling onto the bed. In a tangle of limbs they crashed, causing another spurt of laughter between them.

“Hardly,” Fjord laughed as he started tugging up on Sabian’s shirt. The other worked with him to pull it off and soon it was fluttering to the ground beside the bed.

“Well if I knew you had to be drunk as a skunk to say yes to a little fun, I would have tried the more direct approach sooner,” Sabian flipped them, landing atop Fjord’s thighs. He cupped one hand to Fjord’s groin and smiled wide. He grinded against his crotch with the heel of his palm in small circles. Fjord’s back arched off the bed and he took one deep breath, shuddering as he released it, overwhelmed by the way Sabian was making him feel.

“What can I say? I like a man who’s upfront about what they w-want,” Fjord replies. “Oh gods, Sabian, that feels amazing.”

Sabian leaned down over Fjord, attacking his neck with a flurry of love bites, just hard enough to leave small bruises, but not break skin. Fjord wrapped his hands around Sabian’s shoulders, digging his fingers in and raking his fingernails across his back in ecstasy.

“Up front, eh?” Sabian says as he works his way down Fjord’s chest, tweaking one of his nipples with one hand as he bites into Fjord’s soft belly. Fjord moans again, one hand running back up to Sabian’s hair, digging his fingers into the locks and scratching in encouragement. “Well damn, this could’ve been so much easier if I’d just told ya I wanted to fuck the life outta your pretty little ass months ago, huh?”

Sabian digs one knee between Fjord’s legs, pushing up until it just barely scrapes Fjord’s clothed erection as he looks up at Fjord with a wicked smile.

“Is that what you want, Fjord? For me to tell ya exactly how I’m gonna fuck you? How I’m gonna stuff you so full of cock that you won’t be able to get out of bed tomorrow morning? Is this direct enough?”

All throughout Sabian keeps rubbing over his groin as he talks, smirking at Fjord and teasing him. Fjord moans, the stimulation overcoming all his other senses while he was so drunk. Fjord tightens his grip in Sabian’s hair, pulling that smart-ass mouth up to his for a kiss.

It’s sloppy and clumsy, and the arm Sabian had been supporting himself on falls out from under him, sending him crashing to Fjord’s chest. They bump teeth and it _hurts_ but they’re past the point of minor inconveniences like pain. Sabian kisses Fjord back like a man who needs it to survive.

All of Fjord’s insecurities have been miles away as the revelry drew on that night, but for just a moment it slips back in, and he worries he’ll weird Sabian out with his tusks. That he’ll get poked by them or be disgusted with the feeling of them so close. Fjord breaks the kiss and looks up at the other, breaths short, wide eyed.

Sabian hardly notices. “ _Fuck_ , Fjordy, don’t hold anything back.” Fjord breathes a smalls sigh of relief and pushes away the discomfort that had started to cloud his mind.

“Pants off?” Fjord says in reply, and they break apart for a second to wiggle their trousers off, throwing them to the floor as well.

Everyone’s caught an eyeful of another on the ship. It happens. But this is the first time Fjord’s been at liberty to indulge in open appreciation of another’s naked body. Sabian was lean, strong. And his dick was _long_. A vein bulged along the side of his cock and Fjord watched as Sabian’s dick twitched against his stomach.

Across from him Sabian let out a low whistle. Fjord looked up and sees the hungry look in Sabian’s eye, feels it mirrored in his own. Sabian tackles Fjord back to the bed and kisses him again. Fjord digs one hand into Sabian’s hair and tugs, using his free hand to help flip them so Fjord is over top of Sabian. Fjord grins in momentary triumph as he ducks down on the surprised Sabian. They kiss again, Fjord sliding his tongue into Sabian’s mouth and trailing his hand down to Sabian’s dick to give it a few dry pumps. Sabian groans into their kiss and Fjord breaks their contact to suck a mark on the sensitive part of Sabian’s jaw.

He sits back on his haunches, giving Sabian a considering look. The half-elf is flushed, a blossoming dark bruise on his weathered and rough skin, just below the prickly scruff of a few days with no shave.

“What was that you were saying?” Fjord asks innocently. “Something about fucking me silly? How are you going to do that from down there?” Fjord asks as he grins, tugging harder on Sabian’s hair and watching the man’s eyelashes flutter.

“Easily,” Sabian grits out with a smirk. He brings up one hand to his mouth, taking a messy suck at a few of his own fingers. Fjord sees a string of saliva connecting from his mouth to his first couple fingers when he pulls them out.

And then those fingers are probing at his entrance, and Fjord’s breath leaves his body. The angle is a little awkward, however, and Sabian uses Fjord’s distracted state to flip them once more. Fjord’s grip easily slides through his hair and Sabian pushes Fjord’s face down into the mattress as he pulls Fjord’s ass up into the air.

Fjord feels his stomach clench tightly, and he turns his head so it is buried in the pillow rather than facing out to catch what Sabian’s doing in his peripherals. 

Despite their frenzied touches so far, Sabian enters his fingers slowly, mercifully, giving Fjord ample time to adjust. It’s strange and unfamiliar but strangely interesting, and he feels himself rocking back slightly when Sabian inserts a second and then a third finger.

Above him, all throughout, Sabian is talking, laughing, saying dirty things that would leave Fjord a bloody mess if he were sober. There’s a dull burning sensation rippling from his entrance, but the booze and the heat of the moment are covering it. Fjord grips the sheets on the bed and he hears a few threads tearing where his fingernails are digging in like claws.

He bucks back on air when Sabian suddenly withdraws his fingers, immediately missing the sensation.

“Oh, someone’s eager, eh?” Sabian asks and slaps Fjord’s ass a couple of times. Fjord grunts at the sting but he doesn’t answer, tusks digging into his lip as he waits for the next part.

It’s been a long time since Fjord did… anything close to this. Besides a quick handjob to get himself off he doesn’t casually take on partners like some of his crewmates do. For the most part he isn’t even all that interested in having sex. But tonight he feels wild and alive and half dead and he wants to feel what everyone else does. He wants what he’s been seeing Sabian go after for months now. For one night, he isn’t scared of what that will mean. He just wants whatever Sabian will give.

“Are ya ready for my big cock to fill you up, boy?” Sabian asks, draping his body over Fjord’s so he’s whispering harshly in his ear. His breath is foul with liquor and teasingly cool against his heated skin.

Ford whines in his throat, nodding against the bed.

“Ah-ah, I can’t hear you, Fjord. I _asked_ , if you were ready for me to fuck you, huh?” At _asked_ Sabian rolls his hips against Fjord’s, and he can feel Sabian’s cock pressing against his entrance. Teasing, not quite entering yet.

“Y-yes, _fuck_ yes, S-Sabian,” Fjord says, nodding and pushing back against the half-elf over him.

“Mmm, _good_ ,” Sabian purrs as he drops one hand back to stroke Fjord’s cock a few times before using his hand to guide his own cock to Fjord’s hole, pressing in slowly.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck, gods dammit,”_ Fjord swears under his breath as the tip explores his rim. It _hurts_ like a mothe—like a bitch, but he doesn’t ask him to stop. Sabian begins leaving sloppy kisses on Fjord’s neck and jaw to relax him. With shallow thrusts of his hips, Sabian keeps teasing his cock further and further in, a few centimeters at a time.

Sabian bites into Fjord’s shoulder as he pushes the rest of the way in. Fjord whines high in his throat at the final thrust.

For a moment he holds steady, not moving, as Fjord curses again and gets used to the dick shoved so _deep_ into him.

“You good, Stone man?” Sabian asks, tugging on Fjord’s earlobe with just the edge of his teeth.

Fjord wiggles his hips experimentally. _Not terrible_ , he thinks to himself. To Sabian, he says, “That all ya got, elf boy? Thought you said you were going to split me in half?” Fjord taunts. His panting is ruining the effect, a bit, but Sabian just laughs.

“Remember, you asked for this, Fjord,” Sabian pats Fjord’s cheek with condescension. With no warning, he thrusts his hips forward, sheathing himself fully into Fjord.

Fjord howls, bearing down against the intrusion.

“Nuh-uh, Fjordsy, baby,” Sabian grunts as he withdraws and slams in again, taking a few moments between each to make them powerful thrusts. “You were practically begging me, _unh_ , remember?” Sabian slams his hips forward and Fjord’s body is trembling with sensation. Sabian slowly finds his pace, speeding up but keeping each slam consistently powerful.

“’Split you in half’ was the— _ohh yes_ —the agreement, _fuck_ , if I recall,” Sabian groans as he fucks Fjord deep. Fjord’s hands are pulling so tight at the sheets that the mattress below is starting to rip.

“Fuck! Ah, shit, fuck, _you goddamn elf_ , _hhn_ ,” Fjord yells, voice hoarse as pain shoots through him with every rough thrust of Sabian’s body over his. There’s pleasure side-by-side with every powerful slam of those hips, but Fjord can’t focus on anything but the overwhelming _sensation_ of being pounded into.

“Tsk, tsk,” Sabian clucks his tongue, removing himself from Fjord for a moment so he can flip the half-orc onto his back. Fjord rolls limply, unable to fight back the manhandling, and before he knows it his knees are pressed to his shoulders and Sabian is- _oh gods ohgods oh fjuck-_

Sabian sheathes himself within Fjord once more, picking right back up at his sledge-hammer pace. Sweat runs down his face and splatters onto Fjord’s drenched chest. He can see Sabian’s eyes are slightly glazed as he continues gloating over top of him.

“That’s half-elf to you, Stone man. You don’t see me calling you a little half-orc _boy_ , do you?” Sabian asks as he uses the position to fuck even deeper into Fjord.

Fjord howls and tears prick the corners of his eyes. He scrabbles for new purchase in the sheets, but his slick hands find nothing but frayed thread and stuffing.

“You wanted this, right? For big, bad Sabian to fuck you silly, Fjord? To have you screaming nonsense? To have you begging for your mama or your god or who the fuck ever, _unh_?” Sabian grunts as his voice grows rougher, voice thick with desire and heat flooding his chest as he feels himself getting closer and closer to release.

Fjord is lost in the darkness of Sabian’s eyes, legs pinned back and hands uselessly trying to find something to anchor him. Something besides Sabian’s big cock pushing him further and further back on the bed until his head is slamming back to the frame on every thrust. His words filter through at a snail’s pace as Fjord whines and claws against the man above him. Sabian takes no notice of Fjord’s change in frenzy as he continues thrusting like there’s no tomorrow.

“I wanna hear ya beg for me, Fjord. I’ve spent months begging for a slice of you, now it’s your turn, _boy_ ,” he growls, leaning down to mouth possessively over Fjord’s neck, leaving stinging bites in his wake.

“ _Ah! Fuck! S-Sabian-“_ Fjord calls, unsteady, head thrown back and back arched.

“I said _beg_ ,” Sabian growls again, biting deep over his nipple and laving it with his tongue. Fjord squirms and bucks, but it just puts him in a position for Sabian to push him further into the mattress, to hit a new angle of insanity within him.

“Fuck! Please, ah-ah _-ah, p-please, Sabi—ohhh_ ,” Fjord whines, unable to finish a coherent thought.

“You think that’s good enough, Stone man? You think that’s enough to let you cum?” Sabian asks again, pushing his face up into Fjord’s and kissing him roughly. He shoves his tongue into Fjord’s mouth, and Fjord is hopeless against him, his jaw slack to allow the intrusion, half-tried words still trying to escape. As he trembles he suddenly tastes a bit of blood and Sabian recoils from him.

“Ah, fuck, your damn tusks, Stone. If anyone’s gonna draw blood around here, it’s me, _got it?_ ”

Fjord feels revulsion run through him as he tastes Sabian’s blood on his tongue. Through the haze of wanting to be fucked and wanting to be drunker than he is to handle being fucked, Sabian bends low and bites deep into the juncture of Fjord’s neck and chest, teeth breaking skin.

Fjord shouts with real pain, a cry flying from him and an instinct he thought long buried and forgotten surges up, igniting his loins as he cums, jets of white streaking his own chest.

He clenches hard around Sabian’s dick as he cries, feeling the small trickle of blood on his chest and memories long pressed down jump to the forefront of his mind. Sabian, lost in his own pleasure and grinning smugly, doesn’t notice the change in Fjord.

“Mmph, fuck, Stone, _fuck_ , just a- just a little- _aah_.” Sabian sacrifices power for speed, and his thrusts are quick and wild, until one final pump pushes deeper in Fjord than before, and he feels something warm fill him from the inside as Sabian collapses over top of him. A few squiggles of Sabian’s hips milks the rest out as he presses Fjord’s knees firmly to his chest. He licks up the blood around the bite mark he’d caused, their blood probably mixing on his tongue, as he kisses the tender spot.

“Fuck,” is all Sabian can say immediately after, both breathing heavy and coming down from their respective highs.

Fjord doesn’t say anything as he squeezes his eyes closed, ashamed at the tears still breaking free from his resolve not to cry. Like a fucking kid.

He doesn’t complain at the angle Sabian keeps his legs at, still pressed to his chest, nor the way Sabian kisses over the little bruises he’d left on Fjord’s chest during their bout. Sabian’s breathing evens out much quicker than Fjord’s, and still the half-elf has yet to look up from his blissed out haze.

Fjord turns his face to the pillow, craning his neck to try and push himself as far from Sabian’s vision as he can. Pain is radiating all over his body, and the cooling of cum on top of his chest is both familiar and abhorrent. He feels revulsion wash over him once more, stronger, nearly pulling bile to his throat. Above him Sabian’s voice rumbles low in his throat.

“Mm, Fjord, that was great. You sure were a good fuck,” Sabian stirs, pushing himself up to be leaning over Fjord, weight on his hands and freeing his legs from being locked to his chest. Sabian blinks slowly, rolling over to lay beside Fjord and stretching out his arms above him.

Fjord feels the cock leave him slowly, and a little bit of semen dribbles out of him as Sabian retreats, flopping on his back and looking for all the world like a cat stretching mid-nap.

“Such a good, good fuck. I had a feeling you would be,” Sabian says sleepily. He’s almost murmuring to himself, but with Fjord’s shoulders shaking in silence, he can hear everything the half-elf says as he drifts off.

“We should get you drunk more often, if it ge’s you to loosen up, Stone. Take y’ur pretty face down to suck me off n-next time… gotta, gotta watch out for those tusks, th…”

A small snore interrupts the half-elf as he falls asleep, a mixture of the release and the alcohol and the stress of the day putting him to rest on the torn up sheets of the cheap inn they’d borrowed for a night.

Finally free of the man holding him down, Fjord tries to move, but he feels as if a different weight has settled low on his chest, making it impossible to stand. He looks at Sabian a moment before tucking his face beneath a pillow again, the waves of sickness coming stronger now. The light from the torch lamp hurts his eyes, dim as it is, and he feels the soreness of his body acutely.

The muscles he’d pulled earlier on the ship are screaming at him. The light and the darkness are both too much, both causing his head to pound harder, to not be able to keep a single thought for long. His breath is still short, not calmed in the slightest and the pressure behind his eyelids is causing him to see stars as he presses them shut, trying to stem the stupid, stupid tears he can’t control.

The coolness of drying cum is on his chest, and the mistake of touching it with one hand as he goes to rub the bite mark Sabian had gifted him that allows him to spring into motion.

All at once the symptoms catch up to him, and he falls off the bed, retching violently on the floor below the torchlight. A hardy dinner with the crew and hours worth of bad decisions and celebration comes up, splattering his naked body as he coughs with the force it expels from him with. It was so strong it came through his nose, through his mouth, overwhelming him and causing pained tears to leak out as well, as the pressure makes his ears pop.

As soon as he finishes he scrambles backwards, stumbling over the pieces of his clothing and armor they’d ripped off so exuberantly not more than an hour ago. Fjord takes a ripped piece of the sheet from the bed and hastily wipes it over himself. Sticky white and a little bit of red and the awful color of sickness come away and he tosses it in the corner by the sconce. He pulls his pants on, nearly tripping, and barely has the presence of mind to leave the key in the room as he runs from the room, clothing himself as he went.

He ignores the startled call of the innkeeper and the spare looks he gets at the late hour that he is running in. There aren’t many people out on the streets, and most every tavern has closed its doors long ago, turning a night of merriment to a close.

He runs until he can’t anymore, exhaustion creeping over him, his stomach cramping and eyes watering from the cold wind coming off the ocean obscuring his vision too much to go further.

He drops to the ground, shirt untucked, armor pieces hanging off in awkwardly undone clasps and buckles.

 _“Fuck,_ ” he croaks, eyes down to the uneven cobble stone below him. He squeezes his hands into fists that just as quickly uncurl and dig into the stone. The Stone. The fucking, _fucking_ _word_ still gets to him. He feels his stomach turn over and he waits, cautious, for the retching to begin again. When nothing comes, he sighs, dropping down to sit back on knees folded over ankles. It’s uncomfortable, but it keeps his head up and alert. He glances around him, trying to get his bearings in the dark.

Somehow he’d taken himself to the edge of one of the docking ports in this town. There were many, and then there was the beach itself. But as he lifted his face he realized he can hear the crash of the night ocean against manmade structures, and he sees a great many ships moored and resting. The moon disappears behind clouds and for a moment he has to squint, trying to figure out which quay he’s come to.

The knees of his pants are damp where he kneels, and slowly he becomes aware of a light rain falling around him. He tilts his head up to the sky, letting it wash over him. He gets to his feet in unsteady steps, still looking up as the moons reappear above him. The light seems to touch down close enough to touch, and Fjord walks toward it. It leads him to the furthest edge of the longest dock. There’s no ship moored near tonight. Fjord lays his armor and boots by the edge and dives in, still following the light glittering on the waves.

Salt water sloshes up into his nose and Fjord lets it. He takes a deep breath and disappears under the waves, making powerful strokes through the water like he was born to. Like it was all he was good for.

The light reached even beneath the calm waves, and Fjord stayed under until he felt his throat tighten and his body start to panic. When he resurfaces, he’s far from where he’d left the dock. In the waves near him he sees a long, dark shadow slide effortlessly past. He feels a half-dozen fish bump past him, leaving trails of bubbles in their wake.

Fjord treads water in the moonlight, taking deep breaths, and carefully not thinking any thoughts at all. There’s a pain in his rear and a sharp sting on his chest where the salt water gets into all the small crevices of the teeth marks left upon him.

He embraces the pain. He bobs a few times before letting himself sink beneath the waves once more. He drops slowly through the water, falling further and further. He makes no effort to propel himself any given direction. He allows himself to sink. And sink. And sink…

He feels near to out of air as he opens his eyes and looks around him. His vision is limited, even with his orcish blood giving him an advantage in seeing in the dark. But he definitely does not see any sort of floor beneath him. Darkness, below him. Darkness around him. Fjord thinks for a moment, if it’s darkness above him, he might as well keep sinking.

Tilting his head up, he looks for the surface. He catches a glimpse of another large shadow near him, swimming away. And following that shadow, he sees a glimmer of moonlight piercing through the water even so far down.

Fjord’s throat is burning. His muscles ache. He could let himself sink into oblivion. Get eaten by the next “shadow” that swims by.

But instead he pools his strength into a few massive strokes, propelling himself like a cannonball through the water. He breaks the surface with a gasp for air, then coughs on the seawater that swept in immediately. He spends a few moments hacking and coughing, keeping himself in place, turning slowly in the water. When the water dispels, Fjord catches a snort on its way out. It kind of hurt, stopping mid-laugh, and it makes him laugh again. Louder and louder, he laughs, leaning back to let himself float on top of the water, being pushed and pulled by the tide. There’s an edge of hysteria to each sound out of his mouth, but the embarrassment doesn’t stop him, for once. He releases it in a broken, snorting, yelling, laughing pile of noise as he drifts, sinking slightly when the force of movement causes him to break his floating position.

Over the sound of his own laughter, and water rushing in his ears, he doesn’t hear the approach of a small boat until a lantern is swung overhead, near to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The essence of this chapter, is that Fjord and Sabian fucked, Fjord freaked out halfway through because it got out of hand and he didn't know how to verbalize that it went from good to uncomfortable for him, and then he gets sick and runs out to take a swim for some fresh air immediately after Sabian falls asleep, drunk and blissed out.
> 
> If you did not want to read it, you mainly missed a few parallels of Fjord accidentally connecting abuse in his past with what had been a pleasurable moment (up until it wasn't) in the present. And his subsequent coping methods, healthy or unhealthy as they may be.
> 
> I promise, next chapter is lighter, little more hopeful.
> 
> Please let me know if I forgot to warn for something though.


	3. The Tug of War in the Now, Not Yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some quiet reflection as the morning dawns between Fjord and the Captain.

“What ho! Are you okay, there? We heard sounds of distress on our way in from the night’s haul? How’d you end up out here?”

Fjord’s chest is almost sore from how much he’d been laughing. But still he gathers himself to tread properly and blinks his eyes a few times to see past the light to the fisherman who’d called out.

“Ah, yes, hello! I ended up a little further out in a night swim than I anticipated. I’m sorry to have bothered you, good man,” Fjord calls back with a practiced ease. He’s prepared for so many different situations, practiced his various responses and voices, that he calls back in the same accent as the fisherman, trying to emulate his speech.

“A ride would be excellent, if there’s room,” Fjord adds on, swimming closer to the boat to get a better look at how many are on board and what their cargo is.

Two fisherman hold hands down to the water, and Fjord is lifted up by strong arms. There’s a hefty pat to his back and a blanket offered for his shoulders once he’s aboard. To one side are many nets, looking partially tangled, and to the other is a sizeable catch, already being chilled and prepped for moving once back at dock.

The ride back to the dock goes in relative silence. No questions are asked about his “night swim” and no further explanations are offered. Fjord thanks the fishermen for their assistance and they nod a gruff “take care of yourself,” to Fjord as they reach the shore. He returns their blanket and heads to find his things.

The night has turned to pre-dawn glow. The moons are lowering, their light lessening as the sun slowly works its lazy ass up to the horizon. The sky is a brilliant gray, the light rain turned to a fine mist. The dark blues and purples of the sky bleed into the approaching pre-dawn gray light and Fjord breathes a sigh of relief as an old wives’ tale passes through his mind.

“ _Red skies in morning, sailors take warning. Red skies at night, sailors’ delight. Like I told ya, son, you can’t predict what the ocean’ll do. You can just try to learn her moods and treat her right. And get a good, solid crew behind ya to help ya if you go wrong.”_

Vandran’s slow drawl settles his nerves as the memory passes through. He heads toward the end of the dock, slightly puzzled at the shape of a man sitting at the end of it. He’s leaning back on his arms, feet kicking out over the water. As he gets closer, the shape becomes familiar. The figure turns to look to the side, and Fjord catches the profile of an older human man, a scraggly beard toughened by years on the open water, and skin weathered just the same.

“Captain?” Fjord calls out, slowing his pace, suddenly aware of how out of sorts he must look. His armor and boots are to the left of Vandran.

Vandran’s lips curl up at the corners and he waves Fjord forward with one hand, turning back to watch the sky shift colors.

Fjord cautiously walks up and sits at the edge of the pier beside his stack of things, glancing at his captain from the corner of his eyes.

“Fjord,” Vandran acknowledges him with a nod, still looking up at the lightening sky.

Fjord dips his head, hands gripping the edge of the pier in a sort of discomfort he hasn’t felt around Vandran in a long, long time.

Vandran says nothing, and the tension within Fjord coils tighter, waiting for something else to snap. He grips the wood beneath him so tight, he may have gotten a splinter.

“The mornin’ sky after a major storm sure is a thing of beauty, huh?” Vandran finally says, his relaxed lean and slight smile still in place.

Fjord darts his glance from Vandran to the sky and back again. Then he turns his head down and to the side nodding.

“Not much time to sit and enjoy the view when you’re busy working, boy. Or busy worrying, or busy bein’ busy. Whatever you’ve been putting yourself into knots over, over there.”

Fjord feels the shame of an admonishment burn the back of his neck and the tips of his ears. Before he can think of what to say, Vandran presses on.

“No view better than the view of daylight breaking when you thought you’d be dead the night before.”

Fjord slides his eyes to the right, biting his lower lip, but his grip loosens from its death grip on the dock.

“I haven’t gotten to thank you properly for the part ya played during that storm on our way in, Fjord. But that quick fix on the rudder saved us from going under. Good thinking, son,” Vandran compliments. Fjord feels the words soak into him like a cooling balm against the heat of his earlier flush.

“It was nothing, Captain. What any man would do,” Fjord says, casting his eyes up to the sky and away from Vandran.

“Pfft,” Vandran snorts, shaking his head. “If any man would’ve done it, then I wouldn’t be here thanking you, Fjord. That took some guts, some strength. Took a man with nothing to lose.”

Vandran sits up, grabbing a small purse from his side. He withdraws two copper pieces, tucking the purse back onto his belt. He hands one over to Fjord, keeps one for himself.

“Impressive amount of time you can hold your breath, there, Quartermaster,” Vandran starts again, not looking at him. Fjord turns the coin over and over and over and over in his fingers, not answering.

“I’ve been sailing my whole life. The ocean is my livelihood. Was the first place I discovered that could be _mine_ , that even though it was big enough to share, I didn’t have to. Enough of it could just be _mine_ , even if I could never control it.” Vandran snorts a little, some joke Fjord missed, and one Vandran doesn’t explain as he waves a hand and continues on. “I love the ocean as much as I fear it. I don’t hold by any god of the ocean, but I’ll flip a copper to whoever might be listening. Say a thanks for the sky the morning after I shouldn’t have made it. Most of this ain’t news to ya, Fjord. But even when I hated the ocean for giving and taking and demanding so much of me, I didn’t stop sailing her waters.” Vandran turns and looks him in the eye for the first time in their conversation.

“Figure out what you hate most, Fjord, and figure out what you love most, and find a reason to keep on going. Toss a coin to a god if it comforts your soul,” he says, flipping the coin into the air. It arches out and lands with a small _sploosh_ a few feet ahead of them. “But don’t let what you hate make ya sink. You made it another day, another fuckin’ beautiful morning, son. You better find a way to make it worth it.”

Fjord swallows thickly, a hundred words and explanations and excuses stuck in his throat. Vandran stands, pats his shoulder briskly, and starts heading back to land. Over his shoulder he calls, “Expecting y’all to be back by noon, remember? Repairs to get underway, profits to divvy up, Quartermaster.”

Fjord turns back to the view. The sky is changing bit by bit, colors bleeding into each other as the sun’s rays begin peaking up in the distance. As he sits there, he hears activity and bustling workers on the docks behind him. He hears shouts and calls and work getting done in the early dawn light. Fish jump out of the water and seagulls call above him as he sits, turning the coin over and over, still.

Just as the brighter of the moons is about to disappear, Fjord tosses his coin into the ocean. “Thanks,” he says, immediately blushing at how foolish it feels to be talking to nothing.

He spends a few minutes more at the edge of the pier, thinking. Above him the sky is turning playful shades of orange and yellow, and finally light blue again as the morning mist dissipates.

No more drunk off his rocker nights. As nice as it was to lean into the moment, Fjord thinks he hates feeling, feeling—the words don’t come to him, but flashes of the night play over and over in his mind as he stares out at nothing.

Losing track of personal space, his accent slurring and slowing, stumbling around like he’d never walked a straight line in his life. Taking up _interested parties_ on poor decisions. Losing the ability to speak when he’s overwhelmed by all of those decisions turning against him at once. Forgetting how to say _no_.

Fjord just wanted to know he had a handle on any given situation. Getting drunk like that, even amongst the crew…perhaps _especially_ amongst the crew…

With any luck, Sabian won’t hardly remember the night. Fjord wishes he were lucky enough to have a bad memory, sometimes. At least he’s perfected feigning one. He can claim a foggy set of memories of the night before, of waking up sick from all the drink, and walking out to clear his head, then getting lost and unable to find the inn again.

He’s gotten into scrapes at port before. It’s not the most unbelievable mess he’s been in. Just one of the first he’ll deliberately misconstrue if anyone asks.

Fjord stands, gathering his gear, slipping his mostly dry-self back into his boots and armor, turning back to find _The Tide’s Breath_.

He’s… he’s not sure he really loves anything, yet. He knows the freedom of being a member of Vandran’s crew is great, but even then there’s always a part of him that is ready for rejection. For a new crew member to make a few too many barbed jokes about half-orcs. For making port calls and seeing families with children take a route to avoid him, no matter how he tries to hide his frame and features.

But he’ll figure it out. Vandran clearly believes in him. And that alone makes his heart beat stronger. The thoughts he refused to think about last night swirl back into a chest he keeps locked in the back of his mind, and buries it under six feet of sand. He’ll find a reason soon. He can feel it. The world owes him a reason, at this point.

He mounts the gang plank and heads below deck to his hammock. He pulls out a small pocket knife with a fine handle, somewhat worn down with his years at sea and of use.

Until he can figure out the shit he needs to, at least he can keep his options open by making himself presentable. Fjord flips open the knife and reaches up to his tusks. With practiced precision, he shaves the top down smooth, only nicking himself once as he realizes he’s working on less than empty. Next order of business, breakfast. The rest will figure itself out. He’s good at handling the regular details. He’s got _that_ aspect under control.

For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really do just want Fjord to be happy and okay. But he doesn't find purpose or belonging until he meets the Mighty Nein and he says so. So on the fringes Sailor Fjord with a pattern of a bad past repeating until he figures out how to break away, it is. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I panicked for about an hour trying to look up how exactly a cargo ship like Fjord's would have worked before suddenly realizing that if I don't know how it works, even odds that the majority of the readers might not either. Please don't judge me for giving up on figuring out how rudders actually work. I'm basing most of this idea off of books I've read and like a tv show probably lol.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments/Kudos appreciated :D


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